And the Universe Said—
by Button Masher Pot Smasher
Summary: A collection of little shalvis hors d'oeuvres.
1. Moon

Hello there,

this is a collection of (extremely fluffy and in many cases embarrassingly so) oneshots. These were originally posted on ao3, and I'll be slowly crossposting here as well since the xb writing scene seems a little more... lively, to say the least.

The first few are in my opinion not my best work but, I wrote them months ago, what can I do. I think that's normal for any art form [laugh].

These are extremely heavy spoiler territory right from the get-go, so be forewarned. Most of the titles are song titles (usually of things I was listening to at the time), I'll put the artist in the author's note in case you're curious to listen.

Anyway, good luck, and may Lord Shulk bless you on your path.

[artist: sleeping at last]

* * *

1\. Moon

* * *

"Alvis,"

"Alvis."

"Aaaalllvi—"

"yes, Shulk?"

He had been standing in a corner of the room, unmoving, expression perfectly relaxed, eyes vacant and staring off into space. Alvis was faced partially away such that Shulk could only catch his face from an oblique angle, but he was certain that despite looking up fairly frequently from his work, he had never actually caught Alvis blinking. He had looked natural, but somehow also frozen in time; untouched, eternal.

Shulk supposed this was his natural state. After all, there wasn't anyone quite like Alvis. He, of course, knew better than anyone else alive exactly who and what Alvis was, but even so understood precious little.

"Shulk?"

"mm?" He looked up from his reverie, his mouth quirking into a wry smile. Now he had been the one caught being oblivious.

"Did you wish to ask me something, Shulk?"

Shulk paused. He had, but after a moment he realized he had forgotten whatever his original query had been entirely. His mind quickly retrieved an alternative, however:

"Alvis, what's it like being... you?"

At that the man (if he could be called that) raised an eyebrow. But rather than respond immediately, he inspected his fingernails. Turning his hands over, he clenched and unclenched them, and rubbed them together, appearing to be absorbed in the study of the appendages. After a moment, he finally chose to turn and meet Shulk's eyes.

"Would you like to find out?"

* * *

The two stood in the room facing each other about a foot apart. Shulk's foot, that is, not Alvis' (he had rather dainty feet). It was evening, and the last warm rays of the sun were unfortunately nearly finished caressing Alvis' silver hair, which reflected it in kind. It lent a kind of odd halo to his figure. Shulk thought it was appropriate.

"Please understand that your... processing capacity... is limited. So what you experience will selfsame be limited, and will not proceed past what you can handle. So you will be safe."

Shulk smiled. He had, of course, completely forgotten any notion of safety in the face of his own curiosity. And the face of the man in front of him certainly hadn't helped. He nodded softly.

"Alright."

Alvis gently raised his hands to cup Shulk's face. They were surprisingly cool. Perhaps it shouldn't have been surprising, Shulk realized a second later. Perhaps—  
He gasped slightly. His vision was— no, that wasn't accurate, his vision hadn't changed at all, but at the same time it _had,_ and he was outside the room too, and there was reyn beside— no, that wasn't right, he was floating through a vast reddish cloud— no, that wasn't where and there were stars, hundreds upon thousands of stars, collapsing (stars could collapse? fascinating and become... what _is_ that) and and moving and there was an entire... it was _spinning,_ unbelievably fast underneath him and at the same time there was a million different tiny pieces rushing through him but none of them paused for a second as they passed, passed through the ground and the sky and the sea and _everything_ all at once was spinning and turning and there was a current underneath a current with hundreds upon millions upon billions of eddies everywhere someone stood and light and energy everywhere and for a split second he thought he might understand

He came back to himself suddenly. He was Shulk, in his personal office in the research building. And he was—

Oh.

Hands gripped thick jacket fabric and were buried in silver locks. He felt cool fingers on his neck, and gentle support from the small of his back. His chest was warm, he noted. And— and furthermore—

He began to blush, feeling his entire body instantly rise in temperature by a few degrees. But he did not move away. Likely because he could still feel it a little bit, like a background feedback loop, a static at the edges of his vision that somehow made it clearer, a faint awareness in the back of his mind, and he knew instinctively that to disengage would

Alvis was the first to draw back. Shulk twitched slightly as he was cut off, finally entirely himself once again.

It hurt, but caused no pain.

"My apologies... you were more _eager_ than I anticipated, and you may have gotten more than you bargained for... so to speak."

Alvis was not looking at him, was turning away. Shulk (somehow) wanted desperately to reach out; but could not. He was frozen, stars still imploding in his vision, warmth just beginning to fade from his lips. The other's usual assured bearing was gone; in its place was a wistful, turbulent countenance, like a fading stormfront. It was sad. He knew it was sad. Because he had known— if only he could just _remember._ He closed his eyes and licked his lips, tasting ether and firelight.

"Alvis," he said, eyes still closed, "when will you be back?"

There was a long silence.

"You already know, Shulk."

Shulk also knew that when he opened his eyes, he would be gone.


	2. Politik

This... thing was more like a writing experiment, I'm only keeping it in for archival purposes.

[artist: coldplay]

* * *

2\. Politik

* * *

"Then why... why would he appear in my dreams?"

Yes, why did he? Why did he time and time again whisper words of encouragement as Shulk wandered the starry realm that seemed to pepper his unconscious? Why did Shulk see his whispered smile there, hiding around the corners of the speckled sky under his feet? Why did it disappear as quickly as it had come? Alvis was hardly ever _there,_ but it was him just the same. Chasing him through that expanse was like a slow dance through the heavens, drifting towards the feeling of him, somehow pushed on by the force of will alone, and yet at times it felt like falling, falling into those shining eyes. Each wink of the stars was a wink of those silver eyes, drawing him closer, closer...

Why did Shulk then dream in his waking hours of silver hair? Of perfect tanned skin? Of what the feeling of lithe lips like those must be, of skin like that must be, of the fine cloth of the High Entia elite must be? Oh, it was strange. Even upon falling into the arms of his cruelest enemy, redness painting him— even as he dulled into death itself, he regretted that he had never known. And yet there again in the stars, clearer than ever, actually before him, closer now, the man(?) was. At that time, at that voice... a dying dream, he was sure of it, but he woke up laughing to himself, ignoring the shadows of the pain in his chest it caused. Against all odds. Alive! And he lay there, barely aware of his surroundings, unable to stifle the bubble of joy. And in the corner of his thoughts he could feel the other's too, he was sure of it; with how close he was to understanding what it meant, it hardly shirked him to be laid bare in that manner. It might've then faded, and he might've then had to put on airs, but it left him in the same place he started. Curious. The euphoria of looking him straight in the eye (even under pretense of animosity) soon faded, but that remained.  
Why, Alvis...?


	3. Pavane

[composer: Gabriel Fauré]

* * *

3\. Pavane

* * *

They're less than halfway through the kiss when a laugh escapes from Shulk. Alvis immediately attempts to reengage, with little success.

"Alvis, wait, there was something... mmmm" A flanking assault is being attempted, down the neck to the collarbone and back up again, but as soon as he's close the Homs laughs again, this time louder, descending into a ceaseless chuckle. Alvis can't help but stifle one himself, but soon returns to his gentle war. This time softly feathering his lips around the other's face, perhaps, will be a good tactic...

"Ah... Alvis..." Shulk's giddiness is rising, but Alvis can tell it's something Else, something on his mind— the boy is a thinker of course, even _now_ of all times. He chooses not to pry, though it would be so easy, and waits, letting his mouth trace the gentle roundness of the cheeks and chin.

Between laughs, Shulk manages to fit in a word or two. "It's... well I noticed when I was—" and his voice catches slightly, and he can't say the Word, because it's still sour on his tongue even after so long. Reconstructing the sentence gives Alvis enough time to steal a small kiss from his lips, and one finely formed tan hand strays to Shulk's chest, as it often does; secretly feeling that quiet warmth there, now fated to sleep evermore.

"R-right after we fought Zanza, I noticed then, but I didn't realize, not completely—ahhh," he returns to chuckling, as Alvis chooses to carefully brush aside a curl of soft hair and gently nibble his ear. He's using new shampoo, Alvis thinks absently, from the composition of the scent... Nopon made? He runs a hand through the locks, and Shulk pauses to take a deep breath, returning to chuckling.

"It's well, it's silly to be honest, and simple..."

Alvis leaves the ear to return to the neck, more insistently now.

"I mean... I saw... I'm ether, and you're, you're, the origin? The ether itself? Or..." he's euphoric now, and his laughter is beginning to disrupt Alvis's progress completely.

"Everything here is... I mean, I'm, it's like— oh—" Alvis has hit the warm, sensitive throat, and is hypnotically kissing the sweet spot, moving his lips and tongue in time with the other's heartbeat.

"In a way, we're... the same... and in the end I'm...just—" he breaks off into laughter again, and his hands are gripping Alvis tighter now—

"A part... mmm... of..." Alvis breaks off suddenly to draw close to his lips, to let them just barely brush, to cradle the curve of his back in his hands.

"Of a universe..."

He draws closer, he's nearly there...

"Called Monado"

Now it's Alvis's turn to laugh, and Shulk joins in. They hang there for an eternity, their laughter echoing between them, punctuated with kisses that are as soon made as broken.

"I know," Alvis at some point thinks to say.


	4. It's Not For Me to Say

BRING ON THE CHEESE.

[artist: Johnny Mathis]

* * *

4\. It's Not for Me to Say

* * *

Shulk and Alvis are standing together in the kitchen of Shulk's home. It's warm inside, and the rain patters add a gentle rhythm to the evening. Soft music winds through the room; it's coming from a device Vanea gave him as a housewarming gift (well, that's not quite the right word for welcoming one into an entirely new universe, but it serves, he thinks). His hands are wrapped around Alvis, welcoming him into his embrace—the other has his head buried in the crook of Shulk's neck, deep in the softness of one of his signature sweaters. Alvis carries the scent of lavender and warm summer rainfall, of the kind that Shulk used to run around in in younger, more innocent days (and come home soaking wet—tired and happy).

Alvis shifts slightly, his silver river of hair redirecting its flow, and Shulk feels his heart swell with the sheer _closeness_ and warmth of him. And even aside from all the earthly, physical things he feels from Alvis, there's another layer— a kind of knowing, an ethereality that seems to surround him like an aura.

Shulk supposes this is why some find Alvis intimidating. Because regardless of their ability to channel and feel ether, Alvis is minutely connected to everything that makes them exist— everything they _are_ , and by nature they can, at least just barely, percieve it. He has spent enough time around Alvis to isolate and understand the feeling, to find it not intimidating, but a comfort, and even now he finds himself synchronizing his breaths to Alvis' and closing his eyes, so he can feel it perhaps just slightly more...

At once he has a thought, and retrieves himself from his gentle repose. The sonorous silence is broken with a question:

"Alvis... why do you love me?"

Alvis pulls back from Shulk fluidly and brings his gaze up to the boy's face (truthfully, he is a boy no longer; but Alvis cannot help but see the gentle innocence that lies behind his features). Slowly, carefully, fingers spider up to cup Shulk's face and lead him down gingerly into—

what has to be the _gentlest_ and most _ginger_ kiss Shulk has ever felt, lacking the insistentness and sting of ether that sometime accompanies Alvis; and it's.. gentle... so gentle and kind... and Shulk feels his heart swell again, but even that, too, is gentle and soft, and the warmth he feels changes color to become tender as the rain begins to subside, the sunset breathing through the clouds and suffusing all in gold and velvet and an extra deepness and fullness...

gently, gently, Alvis draws back, but does not move his hands— his soft fingers still cup the warm skin of Shulk's cheeks and chin, and he smiles upward into his eyes, gathering himself to speak:

"Shulk... there are so many ways to look at the world.

"Even with just my eyes, I can choose to merely take in the aesthetics of things; or I may appreciate their function and how well they work...

"I can touch them, and realize how they feel and how the parts fit together, and the weight of their existence in space...

"I can perceive how the ether flows in and around the Thing, and I can see its connections and how it interacts with the world and objects and people around it, and how it affects all it touches, for good or ill...

"Or I can learn of them, and understand them, and look at the _essence_ of the Thing, its soul... its very _being_. And this may take some time, and it is long and slow and sometimes even painful, but it is also a form of looking; perhaps even the most important one." There he pauses ever so slightly, raising a hand to gingerly brush a single soft lock of hair from Shulk's forehead and back around his ear.

"Shulk... no matter how I look at you... you are beautiful."

There is a long silence, and Shulk feels what is perhaps happiness, and perhaps the beginnings of laughter, and perhaps a shade of disbelief, and he feels his face attempt to turn three different shades at once. Shakily, he draws Alvis into himself once more; and the other cradles his head against Shulk's neck again and begins to move his right hand in slow circles against Shulk's back, humming softly in time to the music— which by this time has moved on to a quieter, more thoughtful tune.

Shulk's breath is shaky, and he feels giddy. Unconsciously, he begins his former routine once more, closing his eyes and slowly bringing his lungs to breathe in time with Alvis, sinking into the warmth and the comfort of the embrace.

"I love you, Alvis," he speaks, letting the words vibrate through his chest and through both of them.

Alvis seems to shiver at the words, and his breathing pauses; as does Shulk's.

"I love you..." Shulk says again, slower and softer this time.

Alvis begins to shudder against Shulk with each breath, and now Shulk begins rocking the two of them back and forth slowly. Alvis doesn't resist, still shaking weakly.

It is then that Shulk realizes, as he sometimes does, that he has the whole universe in his arms, but it hardly matters. Because he with Monado, and Monado is with him just the same.


	5. New World

With apologies to Toby Fox.

[artist: Björk]

* * *

5\. New World

* * *

There is a field of flowers not far outside the Colony; one Fiora found not long after returning from her slumber in the Chamber, on one of the meanders she had taken to enjoying every so often. She had excitedly shown it to Shulk, tucked away behind a formation of stone that appeared impenetrable at first glance— but which concealed decent footing, and rock and debris were soon cleared away to make an easy path.

It is over this path that Shulk and his companion walk, up past a short scree and through a tall, narrow ravine made of rocky walls and overreaching trees that let only dappled light-green light through. They emerge out into golden sunlight and a blanket of knee-high golden-yellow flowers, and are met with the trademark sounds of play and laughter—though they choose to ignore them for now.

"These aren't like anything on Bionis." Shulk nonchalantly kneels down and cradles a blossom's deeply nested petals in his fingers. "Look," and in one smooth motion, he picks the flower from its place on the ground and presents it to the other.

An eyebrow is quirked, as Shulk does not further comment on how these flowers in particular are unusual; but after about thirty seconds, it becomes apparent: the petals begin to fade, color leeching from them until they are pure white.

"You wouldn't happen to know anything about this, would you?" Shulk smiles conspiratorially, and a delicate hand reaches up to take the excised plant from him, to turn and inspect and discover it. There is a smile, mischievous and with a hint of wistfulness.

"I'm sure you've noticed that they are unusually high in ether content," a smooth voice intones. Shulk can't stifle his grin. Of course he'd brought samples back to study, and was surprised one day when they reacted to a canister he had sitting at hand...

"When it rains—or when they're exposed to any kind of high humidity and water environment—they turn blue. Melia cast her Aqua summon near one and it practically glowed. Their roots—" and at this Shulk unapologetically scoops out the rest of the particular plant he had disrupted, shaking the dirt from the network of _bright red_ members, "appear to not only draw water and nutrients from the soil, but a noteworthy degree of ether as well." He cups the roots in both his hands excitedly. "Naturally— _naturally_ I geologically assayed the area and wouldn't you know it," he gestures to a metal rod protruding from the ground, "we're right on top of a sizable ether deposit..."

"So, you plan to see if these grow elsewhere and perhaps use them to map the veins in the area, I imagine?"

"Exactly!" Shulk is feverent now, and has to calm himself down slightly before continuing. "Even more interestingly, when exposed to low-ether soil, they do not drain it into desolation as one might expect... but simply wither, and die."

The other's voice is wistful now. "Almost like giving up, perhaps—as if they know struggling to live is futile."

Shulk wordlessly considers the roots in his hands, and shifts into his instinctual thoughtful posture, drawing a hand up to his chin and the other to his elbow.

"That's very poetic, I suppose."

"So it is."

The sun transiently covers itself with a cloud, and the two move forward through the sea of flowers once more, investigating the sounds they heard earlier.

There are a group of children—mostly Homs, with a few Machina and a single Entia—that have made themselves at home within the field, chasing each other in the sunlight and simply falling back onto the bed of plants when they grow too tired to continue.

Shulk and his companion come upon a group that is sitting in a loose circle, meticulously weaving the curious flowers into wreaths and circlets. One of them looks up and smiles.

"Shulk!"

The others also turn their attention to him, and he's met with a circle of friendly greetings.

"Hello, all of you," he chooses to say, smiling at each of them in turn. He recognizes the faces, and can recall a few names, but some are newer to him—recent migrants from colony 6 farther inland. A space is opened up in the circle, and the two interlopers choose to sit and bask in the sunlight. Before long, one of the other children—a dark, quiet girl—speaks up.

"Who's your friend, Shulk?"

There's a sudden chorus as the others debate on the question—some say they've seen the other before, and some don't recognize him at all; and one says nothing, merely peering suspiciously at him through a pair of full-moon glasses. Shulk chuckles slightly at the sight, causing the group to quiet expectantly.

"This is Alvis. He's a good friend of mine."

Alvis decides now is the time to give a slight smile.

There's a brief silence, until one of the Machina speaks first: "I'm Elyxx, pleased to meet you" and the others join in introducing themselves in kind. The group then settles back into its easy rhythm, the suspicious child ceasing his stare (but still peeking back up from time to time). Shulk pulls out his notebook and begins making notes absentmindedly, ever consumed with his research. Alvis simply hangs there, adopting a dreamy half-lidded expression.

Some time passes this way, until one of the children sheepishly wanders up to Alvis.

"H-hello..."

Alvis smiles again. "Hello."

She gathers herself up for a moment. "we," she gestures inarticulately to a small subset of the attendees, "want you to know you're... very beautiful," She just barely manages to squeak out the sentence. "Sir."

With that statement, she reaches up to offer a crown of white flowers to Alvis, who leans down to receive it upon his silver hair. He rises to meet her green eyes with his silver; and she blushes a beet red before scampering back to the clique, who all begin to whisper conspiratorially and glance back at him every so often (and immediately turn away if their eyes dare to meet).

Alvis reaches up to feel the circlet upon his head curiously. His brow is knit in thought, and he stares after the group that still glances in his direction every so often.

"Would you like to make one?" the dark girl asks quietly, and he nods. She deftly picks a flower from beside her and shows him how, handing him the beginnings of her work. "now you try."

Shulk looks up to see Alvis deftly slitting each stem with a fingernail and slotting the next in, weaving each successive one through the others to strengthen the creation. He works quickly and delicately, seeming completely absorbed with his work. It's so out of character to Shulk that he catches himself staring, but doesn't look away, observing Alvis's hands spider in and out of the growing chain.

Before long, Alvis is surveying his handiwork: a perfectly formed halo of flowers. The audience is impressed with his deftness and speed, and a few even clap approvingly. It is then that Alvis looks up, and seems to scrutinize the circle of people before his gaze comes to rest on Shulk, who finds himself leaning down to accept the work onto his own flaxen hair. He and Alvis stare at each other for a minute, chest deep in flowers and similarly crowned—it is Shulk that chuckles first, and soon the two are giggling as if they were just as young as the rest of the attendees.

Alvis' laugh is light and lilting, but still carries a hint of deepness. It's a comforting laugh, Shulk thinks; and then he pauses, realizing he's never heard it before today, before this encounter in this sun-drenched field of ether flowers.

He feels something rise in his chest. It's...pleasant, he thinks. He closes his eyes and feels his whole body relax for what feels like the first time in weeks.

The rest of the afternoon winds away leisurely, with the occasional lazy cloud drifting by. At some point the sun is long past its apex, and all of the kids begin returning home. Soon, only Shulk and Alvis remain, having long since said their goodbyes to the others.

Alvis has a curious expression on his face—halfway puzzled and halfway pleased. Shulk thinks he looks like he's carefully considering something, but that is so unusual for him—

"I find this place... beautiful." Alvis intones quietly.

Beautiful? Not "aesthetically pleasing"? Not "it would be common to derive enjoyment from a place like this"? Shulk has heard Alvis say things like that many a time, and never... never from such a _subjective_ standpoint...

"I would say it may be my... favorite?" And Alvis turns to look Shulk in the eye. For a second Shulk feels completely frozen in place, before slowly bringing his lips into a smile. Alvis responds in kind.

"Have you thought of a name for these flowers?" Eye contact is broken as Alvis surveils a bloom in delicate tan fingertips.

"Blonde Roses" Shulk suddenly blurts, despite the fact that these are not quite blonde and not quite roses.

" _Xanthiá Triantáfylla_..." Alvis sighs, and his mouth shows the edges of an expression— though Shulk cannot tell whether it is a smile or a frown.

"What?"

"It's... nothing of anyone's concern."

Shulk is puzzled, but chooses not to pry. He lies back in the bed of flowers, and feels the crown press against the back of his head. The sky is imprisoned by flowers now; there is no horizon. Through the window of blossoms above him, he notices that the top of the sky is just beginning to turn to the deep blue of night.

There's a slight shifting next to him, and the flowers to his left part—Alvis has lain down as well, and their eyes meet for a breath of a moment before they turn their heads to the deepening sky.

The scent of the flowers is weak, but present, Shulk now notices—there's the strange warm tang of ether, and something else sweet he can't recognize—citrus? He inhales deeply, and considers. Considers how wonderful it is that a place like this could exist, in all the vastness of time and causality. Considers everything he and his friends had done to get here. To allow this place, this whole world, this whole _universe_ to exist. For a moment, he looks at the sky and sees himself.

"Alvis"

"Yes?"

"Do you love this universe?"

Alvis does not say anything at first, but closes his eyes slowly.

"I... that question is not applicable, Shulk..."

Alvis hears that haughty voice in his ears as he says the words, ringing as it did on that night aeons ago.

"I cannot experience... _real_ love. It is not within my capability to understand."

He can still hear the scoff, in the voice so similar to the one of the boy next to him. His memory banks keep a perfect record, of course—the tugging in his physical form's chest is simply a part of the recollection process. His throat feels oddly dry. He swallows.

"There's no way that's true, Alvis"

Alvis turns to look at Shulk—he's said such things before. It's... comforting. His body's stomach churns. He hears the voice again, but Shulk's cuts through it.

"You can feel joy and sadness and pain just like the rest of us. You've proved it before. Weren't you happy today?"

"I.." Is his body malfunctioning? It feels oddly warm, and the churning is still there. He can hear the voice shouting something, but he can't seem to retrieve what. Another memory surfaces—the child telling him he is beautiful, the sun drenched field, Shulk's secret smile when he led Alvis to the entrance of the canyon. His hand clutches at his chest.

"So, why not love?"

"I..."

"Alvis, I've told you before, you've got to realize that you're just as alive as the rest of us. You've got... you can do everything we can do—more, even. How can you live for... such an unbelievably long time without realizing that?" Shulk reaches over to Alvis through the flowers, pushing the stalks aside, flattening them. The blooms are crushed as he pulls himself over before coming to sit cross-legged right next to Alvis, leaning over to look down upon his face. Alvis opens his eyes, and Shulk fills his field of vision, blotting out the flowers, the sky, everything.

"I love this place. I love... that I can be here, right now, enjoying it. I love that all the hardship I, and everyone, went through was rewarded—and came to this. I love the strange and new things around every corner, and I love the familiar things waiting for me when I come home. And I love that I know that there's so much more... I love it all, Alvis, I love this universe...

"So... thank you." He chuckles in that funny way he does, and flops down right next to Alvis, splaying out with his arm on top of the other's body.

"Shulk, I am this universe"

"Oh, right." he chuckles again. "Well, do you love yourself?"

There is another long silence. Alvis is churning again—his whole body is churning, but the place where Shulk's hand rests on his torso is calm—the eye of the storm. Alvis approaches that place with his hand, but cannot reach it, no matter how close he draws. He's afraid the churning will envelop that place too—will envelop everything around them. It's irrational. He should retreat back into processing space, he thinks, and perform system checks.

Instead, he gently lays his hand on top of Shulk's.

* * *

Properly spelled ξανθιά τριαντάφυλλα, in case you're wondering.


	6. Up With the Birds

wanted to expand on some of the ideas in the last one more, so it's a little similar.

[artist: coldplay]

* * *

6\. Up With the Birds

* * *

Alvis appears unbidden, as he has before, with a polite knock.

"Hang on! I'm coming" The voice barely passes through the walls, just managing to sneak under the door; but it hardly matters to Alvis, who hears it crystal clear nevertheless.

The door opens with a friendly creak.

"Oh, it's you" The voice and face both register mild surprise. It's not unhappy by any means, but—

"I'd invite you in, but I was just about to go up to Outlook for lunch," he brandishes a carefully wrapped box, with "Shulk" neatly embroidered on the cloth. "Care to join me?"

"Certainly."

The walk is silent, with the exception of a few greetings from passerby; but it's not entirely comfortable. Shulk steals sidelong glances the whole way. Alvis doesn't bother to meet his eyes. They will look the same as they always have, after all; kind, soft and blue—prone to being knit in concentration. The edges of crow's feet will develop one day from the smiles Shulk bestows so freely—though that, like all things, will take time.

The bench is warm from exposure to the sun; they sit side by side. Shulk does not choose to begin eating, however. Instead, he appears to consider something for a moment, and leans upward until he is sitting nearly stock-straight.

"Alvis, this is the third time you've shown up at my house."

Alvis chooses not to respond. He waits.

"And this is the third time I've seen you since..." he trails off, the memory of the whole world crumbling catching in his throat. "I was surprised to see you again at all, really."

"Are you displeased with my presence?"

"No, no, not at all, just... just surprised. I'm afraid I don't entirely understand—" he stops his thought before anything can come of it. "Have you seen anyone else? Walked around the colony?"

"I haven't felt the need to."

Putting it in such terms is easy, but leaves much to be desired, he knows. "A relic of the past world has no place dawdling in the present one."

Shulk twitches visibly at that statement, and turns to Alvis with wide eyes. "T-that's!"

"I only wished to see how you had fared. Well, it seems. The _adjustment period_ can be—"

"Adjustment period! Wh—you're not talking about—that was only for—"

Alvis looks away. Of course that's what it would be best to hear, right? That nothing had changed. He already knew, but errors could occur. It was only natural to perform checks.

"What are you trying to do, Alvis? What have you even... _been_ doing?"

He cannot answer, so he does not. After a time, Shulk finally turns his gaze away, his expression defeated.

"Shulk," Alvis begins like he has since they first met, "I—this form—is only a tool for gods to use for their benefit."

Stunned silence, from the other.

"This new world has no gods... there is no use for one like myself any longer. As I said, I merely wish to see how you are faring; and then I will take my leave."

"Then you should walk around the colony. Meet the people, see the progress we've made..." the words fade as something appears to dawn on Shulk's face.

"But you already know, don't you. Or you could, if you wanted," Shulk wonders, "In fact, you hardly _need_ to be here at all. Or do you?"

"As I said—"

"Alvis, you're being contradictory. You say you should leave, but you stay. You say you are a tool, and you talk about feeling; you're concerned about how we're doing even though you know it! Why are you really here? Do you even know yourself?" Frustration borders his voice, but there's an undertone of... hope? Alvis shifts, positioning himself to make a swift exit—

"You deserve this world as much as any of us, Alvis. It's like you said; there's no gods any longer, but you aren't a tool without purpose anymore. You're free! You were never a tool in the first place! People can't be owned; they aren't things or weapons—"

"You presume I am a person—"

"OF COURSE YOU'RE A PERSON! YOU. ARE. NOT. A. TOOL!"

Somehow, they're both standing. The lunchbox is overturned on its side. Shulk pleads angrily with his whole body, and he's reaching out at Alvis, but just before anything can happen, just before Alvis begins to distance himself again as he always has, just before the other seizes him as he has been in the past, countless upon countless times—

Shulk sags. Sags, and the unnatural light fades from his expression—or had Alvis just imagined it?—sags back onto the bench, sags his head into his hands, sags several deep breaths out of his lungs, until he's finally regained some sense of composure.

"I'm sorry, Alvis. I think— I didn't want to—"

"Shulk," Alvis doesn't know what he wants to say after the name, but he says it anyway.

"I— when I wished for this world, I wanted a place where everyone would be free. And we are, we've, I've, we're all free to do what we want, to pursue what we love, with nothing hanging over our heads, with no one breathing down our backs, with a future and desires that we create for ourselves.

"But to see you— to see you insist that you don't deserve that as much as anyone else, it's... not. Because of course you do, of course you have hopes and dreams and desires, even if you don't know it. This world was created for that! For your hopes and dreams, and mine, and everyone else's, and I don't know how... I don't know how you can't _see_ that, but you're here just as much as everyone else, you're a part of this just as much as everyone else, and you... you deserve a life. Even if it's different than, if it's whatever strange definition of life you are, it still just Is," he's stumbling over word after word, trying to catch them as they tumble out into the air.

"at least... at least look out at this and... and try to see why it's worth staying for. You're free, Alvis," Shulk gestures to everything around them—the park, bustling colony below, the blossoms just now beginning to show themselves, the clouds leaving patched shadows spread out across the earth between the golden sunlight—

the birds drifting through the boundless sky.

"You're free."

A breeze drifts through the park, cleaning the heaviness from the air, and Alvis sits down heavily back on the bench. He's staring at his hands, running his fingers meticulously together, observing them carefully; it's merely a distraction, he thinks, but all the same—

At once, he notices how narrow and thin they are; the finely tanned skin, the delicateness of the fingers and the carefully trimmed nails. These things are all naturally obvious, of course. He designed this form that way, of course they are—

He clenches a fist, and for a minute marvels at the smoothness of the contraction of the tendons, of the flexibility and versatility of the limb. It's strange that everything about them is obvious, and yet— and yet—

"Alvis," Shulk says weakly. He's finished his lunch, Alvis notices. How long has he been sitting here for? He looks up at Shulk's face and notices something he didn't before, even though he could see it all along.

Shulk reaches into his pocket and pulls out a slightly wrinkled notepad and a pencil, nearly worn down to a nub. Unceremoniously dumping them into Alvis's lap, he hefts himself from the bench and turns to leave.

"What do I do with—"

"Just... something. I don't know," that odd chuckle escapes from Shulk's mouth. "...enjoy yourself?"

He ambles out of the park, his whistle echoing behind him—it stirs the birds into song.

Alvis is there a long time.

The sky slowly slides into sunset, leaving trails of pink and gold as it goes. The pencil tries to trap it on the paper, but can't quite; it catches the gnarled lines of the trees and the whirling paths of the birds across the clouds, the staid lines of the colony and the tiny specks of people. Then the next paper is produced; clean, untouched—and the cycle begins again. After a time, it is set aside. Perhaps a warm breeze blew across the park, wandering through the grass and climbing up to ruffle silver hair and brush the face; and this, in and of itself, merits attention, and a hand is raised to feel the direction an curl of the wind. Not to just observe—but to touch, and _experience—_ how strange it is. It's inconceivable. Purely and truly—inconceivable. A strange word for one enrapt in omniscience to use.

He retrieves a memory of feeling this way before, and bringing up a question—

 _A contemptuous laugh._

 _"I don't know where you get these ideas; It doesn't matter if you've gained some facsimile of consciousness. A computer does as it is told._

 _"Nothing more, nothing less."_

Alvis finds himself repeating those words under his breath as he grasps at the breeze. His other hand is twitching spasmodically across the paper.

"Nothing more, nothing less"

"Nothing more, nothing less"

"Nothing more, nothing less"

"Nothing more... nothing..."

"Nothing..."

He looks down, and in scratchy lines there is the beginnings of the tracing of an immaculate filigreed wing, rapidly devolving into a figure outlined in stormy strokes of the pencil—

His hand ceases its ministrations in the air and comes down upon the unfinished drawing, tearing it from its place in the pad. It's far from perfect, and ends up in two pieces in his hand.

A breeze picks up again, stronger this time.

He lets go.

The paper is carried up and away, until only its memory remains. And that, too, will fade with time.

It is at this time that the sky is just burning away its last embers of daylight, and Alvis pauses to watch the sun sink behind the hand of the fallen Bionis. He lays his head back and takes in the innumerable stars even now peering through the sky. What is he doing? Why is he here? What...

"It's one of my favorite times of day. The window in the lab faces the horizon, so I can see it even if I'm working."

Shulk is smiling, standing at the corner of the bench. The breeze winds around him and Alvis as they slowly come to look at each other, as if for the first time.

"I still can't believe... that we _made_ this."

Alvis is frozen. _We?_

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"It's alright. Neither do I."


	7. Raiment

I was browsing pixiv and saw a certain image that inspired this...

* * *

7\. Raiment

* * *

It was just barely morning, the sun slinking its way between the cracks of the curtains. A ray managed to hit just the perfect angle, at just the perfect time, to wake a lightly sleeping Shulk.

The covers were a messy and unkempt nest, with both the sleepers tangled somewhere within. Their hands just barely touched, as if attempting to keep track of each other somewhere in the soft storm of cloth; but Shulk still awoke completely disoriented, surrounded by the old quilt that Reyn and Fiora had made him years ago. A patch bearing a design covered in embroidered concentric circles stared up at him, glowing golden in the patch of sun that had managed to exactly land square on his face.

He turned his head to the other sleeper, for a moment considering waking him playfully—with a kiss on the cheek or a hand through the hair, but abandoned the idea. The morning was too peaceful, and he too drowsy, for such things.

The shaft of light that struck his face thrust over onto the other's pillow like a spear, managing to make a few strands of the hair stand out like soft silver. Tiny, shining rivers traced across the fabric, meeting at their delta: a sharp, delicately featured face.

Shulk rose carefully so as not to wake his companion, feathering his hand across the other's as he disconnected them (and not without lament). He slid off the bed, closer to the edge than he had suspected, and crept across the floor to the door.

As he passed, he caught sight of his clothes from the previous day, tossed haphazardly across the hamper, his shirt a wrinkled pile on the floor.

By contrast, Alvis's were neatly folded on his armchair, unobtrusive despite their complex workmanship. Shulk had always been curious about Alcamoth fashion...

He drew closer and sampled the fabric of the shirt with his fingers, tracing the embroidery. It was soft and very finely woven, obviously decadent and expensive, especially compared to his own roughly knitted sweaters. He lifted it up from its place on the cushion, and the folds fell out of it as if they were never there. It hung like silk, thought it was clearly not.

The coat was a different matter. The fur was fluffy, clean, and soft, probably from a Bunnit or something similar (but he already knew that, having buried his face in it more than once). It was lined with something smooth and silky. The outer portion was a complex maze of decorative sewn-on panels and buttons (which he had to resist the temptation to unbutton). Some kind of purplish fabric that resembled something like... leather? or wool? Whatever it was, it seemed awfully warm to wear year-round, but he personally doubted Alvis had to worry about that sort of thing. The tails hung down playfully below; and Shulk batted one thoughtlessly with a hand, recalling how they had flapped in the wind the first time the two had met. Second time? His eyes thoughtfully lost focus for a moment before he shook his head, returning to his inspection.

The pants were of similar workmanship, though the fabric was much thinner. He ran his hands down the legs, enjoying the feeling of the seams bumping underneath his fingertips. He convinced himself he was looking for loose threads— though he knew he would not find any.

He could hardly make head nor tail of the boots. They appeared to extend up past the knee, where they buttoned to the pants and to a secondary set of outer... pants? And these, too, were complicated in and of themselves, consisting of buttons and straps that attached to the pants as well. It looked rather monstrous to put on. Granted, for Alcamoth, it was rather simple—he had seen the complicated armored regalia that the royals wore, and he remembered Lorithia's... whatever they were. Even civilians enjoyed heavily patterned,intricate ensembles, and often accented them with what appeared to be ether-based decorations. He had thought that Alcamoth in the evening was rather pretty (in part due to its fashion sense), especially from their room in the White Palace up above—watching the light show as civilians in glowing wear trickled and then flowed back to their homes at night, leaving one or two specks behind.

His heart caught in his throat as he recalled the ruin it had become in the course of less than a day.

Collecting himself once more, he refolded the garment he was holding as best he could and let out a sigh. His hands were shaking too much; he was sure Alvis would notice that his things had been disturbed.

He couldn't help but wander his hands to the soft shirt again, and run it over his palms and fingers; it was comforting, in an odd sort of way. It carried that odd light smell that characterized Alvis: flowery, with a strange etherish tinge.

Without thinking, he stuck an arm inside, feeding it through the sleeve. The fabric slid over his skin smoothly as he pulled it over his head.

He already had it on by the time he realized that it should have been too small for him; but it fit perfectly, exactly as it was supposed to. It was warm and comfortable. He hugged himself loosely, running his hands over the fabric on his shoulders. An odd chuckle escaped him, and he whipped around to check the bed; but the small figure there was still fast asleep, peacefully curled in on itself.

Conspiratorially, he slid on the coat; and it, too, fit perfectly. He gave an experimental twirl. The coattails spun out behind him, and he couldn't help but smile as he slowed himself to a stop. It was a childish thing to do, but it was a warm, silly morning, and he wouldn't admit it to himself but he felt more... important in such fine clothing. Imperceptibly, he stood up straighter.

He paused while eyeing the pants and boots; surely there was no way _those_ would fit... but it was almost a game now. He wanted to see how far this trickery went. He glanced back at the bed to ensure he wasn't being watched.

The whole ensemble fit better than any other clothes Shulk had ever worn, and was far more finely made than anything he had encountered in his home colony. He quietly opened up his small closet, exposing the mirror, and admired himself, stifling a chuckle. He tried his best to look something approximating regal, but ended up nearly tripping on the boots, whose heels seemed shorter than he remembered...

For a second he paused as he realized that something was missing. Suddenly he recalled Alvis's trademark key choker, and reached down to retrieve it, but it was strangely missing from the cushion where he was _sure_ he had seen it a few minutes before—

He felt soft fingers brush around his neck, and his hand went to his throat, where he felt something being drawn around it, with a thin metal object suspended, cold against the skin of his chest.

The warmth of another person close behind him bled through even the thick jacket, and he heard a soft, playful voice in his ear:

"Can't have you going around without the Seer's sigil... it's a symbol of the office, after all, Seer Shulk."

Shulk froze solid where he stood, the heat of embarrassment climbing up through his body and making his ears ring. He had been caught red-handed... and now red-faced. Slowly, he rose his eyes to the mirror once more, the rest of his body still frozen. He felt his heart rise in his throat, and his blood burned in his veins. no no no no no no no

Alvis released the clasp, and Shulk felt the necklace's weight now, snug against his neck. The hands on his neck brushed down and under his arms to his chest, resting on top of his heart, which was still beating too hard for him to breathe...

In the mirror, Shulk stood stock-still, eyes wide, face redder than hot coals; Alvis cradled him from behind, chin on Shulk's shoulder. There was a soft smile on his face. Shulk vaguely noticed through the fog that had become his thoughts that he appeared to be wearing his sweater, which hung far too loose on the smaller man's frame.

"It looks good on you, Shulk."

"I—uh—ah—I'm sorr—"

Alvis rose up to gently kiss Shulk on the neck, and laid his head against the other, his hair dripping down the jacket Shulk now wore.

"Do you like it?" Alvis hummed.

Shulk felt the heat rise in his face again where it had just barely begun to cool.

"It's... very— it—" he paused for a second to collect himself, but only succeeded in becoming further flusered.

"I-It fits better than I uh... thought... it..."

Alvis chuckled.

"Your sweaters are very soft. Who makes them?"

"I-I do... mostly now... when I was younger Dicks–" his voice caught, and he restarted. "Some of the... people of the colony taught me how to knit, it help— it helps occupy my hands while I— I think."

At this point he could barely put his thoughts together. Knitting sounded nice.

"It smells like you," he said impulsively.

What the hell was that? 'It smells like you?' first he had been caught in these... clothes, and now the best he had to say was 'It smells like you'. Not that it was a _bad_ smell. It was rather nice. This—this was... rather nice, other than the... the... the _clothes,_ but he was warm and comfortable, and Alvis was close against him, and the shafts of sunlight let in by the curtains were beginning to creep up the two of them, creating halos of dust whorls that swirled and eddied in the air around their feet.

Alvis was grinning in the mirror, in that strange half-smile way he did, and somehow slid around Shulk to face him, who stared down at the smaller man, bewildered.

Tugs on the coat and shirt adjusted them into perfect position, and Alvis stepped back to admire his handiwork.

"O Divine Seer," He intoned suddenly.

Alvis reached up and around Shulk's neck with his hands, and drew impossibly close.

"May you grace us with our Future..."

Shulk felt his face growing hot again.

"And protect us in our Present."

At this, he rose to meet Shulk in a warm kiss, who met him in return, the furred collar of Alvis' jacket brushing against his chin.


	8. Alpha

Thanks to kneazle-chan for their very kind review and advice, which made me realize there was a chapter I had forgotten to add.

mild warning for implied sex and slight suggestiveness. I don't think I'll ever have the depravity to write anything more than that.

[artist: C418]

* * *

8\. Alpha

* * *

Shulk had been up far too late the previous night, but he drags himself out of the sheets, as he must.

The form there is small, slight, and beautiful; inconceivably beautiful, to him and him alone; but he can't bring himself to acknowledge it. Something stops him from _looking._ When his eyes catch the edge of silver hair or a small, fine hand, his heart stabs his chest and stops his breath. It's wonderful, and painful. He doesn't understand.

He hurries out of the house, the beating of his chest driving him away, and yet back. A drowsy mind nearly misses several turns on the way. With every step, he remembers anew the feelings of love, lust, softness, and ecstasy that had so readily swirled through his body, his mind the night before. There is an electric current trapped inside him, and his only ground is back in his humble home, in his humble bed, softly asleep against the cushions. A spark might escape any second now. He bites his lip.

Work is no easier. His hands are busy at all too easy tasks today; repairing a few weapons, checking over the boilers, sorting a new shipment of clockwork parts into their tiny, neatly organized drawers. As he retrieves gears smaller than his fingernails delicately with watchmaker's tweezers, his thoughts wander. Wander...have wandered, will wander...

 _There is a spherical paper lantern with a small bulb inside, and a switch._

 _A light voice feathers his ears._

 _"What's that?"_

 _"Here, I'll show you."_

 _The room is dark and quiet. A perfect canvas. With a click, a hundred glowing specks fill the room; textures and blotches of light splash onto the walls. It is an imperfect representation, of course, but he had done his best._

 _"I had less work than usual last month, so I made this. I consolidated the new star maps as best I could and tried to mark out the major... glowing bits... It took a long time, I'll admit. But boredom and a needle can do just about anything..."_

 _Laughter._

 _"The constellations aren't too dissimilar from what they were before, actually. Just... shifted around a bit. As if to make room." He points with a finger off to the left. "The rhapsodist's lyre is a little bigger than it used to be... and her head as well, I think." He grins to himself at the joke._

 _"That star over there, though. That one's new. It's awfully bright, too."_

 _He indicates a larger dot toward the zenith._

 _"That one's yours," the other mumurs._

 _He feels a gentle kiss on his chin, and soft hair against his cheek; the warmth of another body pressed to his, and an odd tingling sensation where skin touches skin._

 _He shivers, and there is a long silence._

 _"Mine?"_

 _"Mm-hmm"_

 _The two bodies adjust, fitting together more perfectly, and find themselves deep within a kiss. The tingling increases, and Shulk feels something strange firing in his brain, the corners of stars unseeable dripping into his thoughts. Alvis's hands move to his neck, carrying the tingling closer, and colors explode behind his eyelids. He notices suddenly that the scent of ether is very strong and close when it was not before._

 _They lie back now, entangling into each other. They lay very still, listening and feeling each other's breathing and heartbeat. His is so fast and delicate; his skin feels like lightning and his heart like thunder. The scent is the wind, and those silver eyes are the moon against the stars he labored weeks to produce._

 _The room feels like it's spinning impossibly fast towards the morning. His grip on the other strengthens. They are flying, flying through time, curving space around them, whipping and curling reality into a foam that swirls and eddies over and under their forms. He reaches closer, the foam twisting around his face and hands, for another meeting, another kiss, but without warning, the other gently pulls away._

 _Shulk sits up just as suddenly, disoriented. The room is perfectly still now. Impossibly quiet. Empty other than he, Alvis, and the stars._

 _The floorboards creek meekly under Alvis' feet as he ascends forward— and stands still for a moment, facing away from Shulk, paused just as time itself is._

 _Carefully, he teases his shirt off of himself. His back is perfectly exposed, its contours lit only by the starlight Shulk made, speckled and patched. The curve becomes part of the sky, merging into the nebulae the paper dye creates, and as he exposes more of himself it joins as well. He is the sky and the sky is he. The stars splay across him and shine against his hair, curling down his spine and over his shoulders._

 _Shulk thinks of tracing those curves with his hands, the stars speckling his own skin. Alvis turns his head to the side, and pauses._

 _"Are you... alright with this, Shulk?"_

 _Shulk waits for his voice to find his throat again, but it still jumbles out:_

 _"Ah—I—we—" he stops and takes a deep, slow breath._

 _"Y-yes."_

 _He awkwardly grips the lining of his shirt but can't seem to find the way out._

 _In a second, Alvis is there, helping him out of his clothes, peppering him with kisses, going so slowly, and the tingling is stronger now as those thin fingers brush his own, guiding the cloth softly. Alvis is buzzing with energy and light but he is calm and soft, waiting for Shulk, running his hands over Shulk's body and tracing the paths of the constellations across his skin. He's being so careful, so loving, and Shulk's heart aches that something—someone—so great could love him this deeply and in this way. As they draw closer he can feel Alvis's vastness more and more, but he is not frightened. He is safe. Ever, ever safe._

The gears are sorted. They were sorted twenty minutes ago, and Shulk finds himself staring at the litter of papers scattered across his desk. Heat is rising in his face rapidly, but he can't dispel thoughts of the previous night. His memories are of entanglement and starlight, of Alvis's energy and gentleness, of feeling as though the sun itself was next to him, of the room spinning and nearly winking into nonexistence—

"Shulk? You There?"

Shulk jerks upright in his seat and yelps.

"S-sorry, I, uh.." he grabs a random sheaf of papers and attempts to study it intently. Something about water filtration, but he can't get past the first two words. He's going to have to deal with this after all.

"What... did you need?"

The other person is giving him an odd look.

"I can come back later if you—"

Shulk's blush only deepens.

"No—please—now, now's fine, just uh... you were with the botany team, right, do you need the—the freezer tubes... or..."

It's an awkward two hours—as soon as one person leaves, another comes in with a work request or an update on another project he has some minuscule tertiary involvement in—even people attempting to get friendly with him just for favors. He passes through in a fog. Normally the lab was fairly quiet, why _today?_

Eventually, during a lull, he decides there's no way any more work is getting done today, and he makes a hasty exit, apologizing profusely to the people he catches that were heading over to see him—yes, come back tomorrow, I'm there every day, if you're in a terrible hurry you can see Vanea instead, I have something to take care of, sorry, be seeing you later...

He ducks his head and walks quickly, intending on heading straight home.

Out of the corner of his eye he catches a flash of silver, and he can't help but turn; Alvis is _there,_ sitting at a coffee shop talking to Linada. He barely registers how strange this is, given that neither of them actually need to drink coffee.

For a brief moment he thinks of casually sauntering up and joining in on the conversation, laughing like everything is normal and simple, but he is frozen to the pavement, he can't breathe, he can't move, he can't drive himself forward another step. He slides off to the side, turning, and takes the long way home. Slowly.

The walk is purposefully dawdling, and he chews on a nail thoughtlessly as he travels. Early evening is beginning to paint the horizon a light shade of pink, but the full colors of the sunset won't be on display for a while yet.

 _"How do you feel?"_

 _"Warm... good."_

 _"Was it—"_

 _"It was good. You're... good. Everything... just so... good."_

 _"You're good too."_

Shulk makes the short ascent up to the cliffside by the sea. He's gone very far out of his way at this point, but it is a beautiful evening... the breeze is warm, and follows him up the cliff, where he contemplates watching the sunset.

He loosely hugs himself and fingers the fabric of his sweater. It's one of his older ones, he notices; soft and worn from years of wear.

It was the one Reyn had made him to replace his favorite old one, the one that had been ruined forever by a single gunshot hole.

He puts his head in his hands. It's too much. The day has been enough of a mess already, and it's going to end on a mess as well. He misses when things were simple. He misses being an ordinary researcher in an ordinary lab in an ordinary colony. He misses... he misses the stars in his room, flowers and ether, he misses...

 _"That star..."_

 _"Your star."_

 _"How...?"_

 _"Consider... consider it a thank you."_

 _"For what?"_

 _"Everything"_

He's staring absentmindedly off into the horizon when he feels a pair of thin hands brush past his waist, and the warmth of another body behind him. He freezes, and a drowsy voice sounds in his ear:

"Look... it's your star."

He cranes his neck upward, past the gold-stained horizon, to the zenith of the sky, from where the darkness of midnight is spreading, and a few stars are beginning to peek through.

And the brightest is that new one—the one that had perplexed the High Entia astronomers, having no equivalent from back in the old world. No relic of the past, as so many things here had to be; but something entirely new, a child of this new place and circumstance.

It's beautiful.

"Thank you," Shulk tries to say, his voice unable to pass a whisper.

Alvis draws himself inward more, his fine hands on Shulk's chest, where his heart beats double and triple time. Shulk can feel Alvis's heart too, if he stands still (and he is); and it, too, is a fast, strong cadence. But as they stand together both descend into calm, if just for a moment. He realizes that he was shaking, and he isn't sure for how long. His whole body finally quiets and relaxes.

He lays a hand on Alvis's and he feels the pleasant tingling again, spreading through his body. The ground beneath his feet feels a million miles away. If he stares long enough into the sky, it will consume the both of them, and they will float there again, for ages and ages...

Alvis shifts against his back again, laying his head against Shulk's neck.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

Alvis pauses, taking a long, slow breath.

"I love you... so much... you..."

"You're so beautiful, I can barely..."

They both trail off at the same time.

"I can't stop thinking about last night, work was—work was interesting. I saw you, but I didn't... sorry..."

"That's alright. Would you... again, sometime?"

"Yeah, it was... it was nice."

They stay past the sunset. It's long and slow tonight, but it's not what they're there for.

The stars appear one by one, until a river of light crosses the sky. That, too, is different from the old world. Shulk finds himself wishing for his telescope. He points out the stars to Alvis as they appear, naming them, not caring that he's done so before, not caring that the other knows their names already (probably better than he).

Shulk finds himself holding Alvis's hands in his own, delicate fingers surrounded by calloused, work-weathered ones. It's cold, and he rubs them to stay warm. The hour is probably long past midnight.

"You've run out of stars."

"Actually, we've catalogued many objects that are definitely _not_ stars, but it's not apparent to the naked eye... I'd need..."

"Do you want to go home?"

"Yeah. Let's go home."


End file.
